Expressionism
by EmitTime
Summary: While Kugelmugel learns about the world around him, Austria rediscovers some things about it, also.
1. Chapter 1

**Genres: **Historical, Family, Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Drama

**AN: **It's been thirty years since the creation of Kugelmugel, and tomorrow marks the 25th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Expressionism**

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"_Art is creative for the sake of realization, not for amusement: for transfiguration, not for the sake of play. It is the quest of our self that drives us along the eternal and never-ending journey we must all make." _

- Max Beckman

(1884 – 1950)

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Chapter 1**

**.**

Austria felt him before he truly knew him. It was only a vague notion at first, as if he were, in some manner, forgetting about a very important detail. Then, the feeling became more defined – the sense that something _else_ was nearby, something like _him_.

People claimed that being suddenly chilled was a sign of someone walking over their grave. For his kind, a sudden jolt of alert energy thrumming along one's pulse was the sign of another nation being present in their home, in their heartland.

It was entirely odd and wholly unacceptable for him to have such a feeling without _knowing why_, and so for weeks, he poured over the newspapers and made inquiries with his neighbors and _wondered_.

He couldn't think of any nation who'd have cause to mess with his head. Prussia was behind the Wall, Germany had thrown himself into work, and the others were all keeping to themselves or caught in the crisis-ridden power struggle that was the Cold War. Austria had long since passed the point of being able to offer anything of substantial value to them. Instead, he was absorbed in toeing a careful line between East and West. He no longer sought allies or spouses for his survival, only business partners. His ties were still deep with some of his fellow nations, to be sure, but never like before. _Never again._

His freedom to live – to live alone, at that – had come at too high a price to risk skirmishes with other nations.

So, he had an idea of all the things it couldn't be, but still no definitive answer as to what it was.

He supposed he simply never thought that a _micronation_ would crop up at his place, all because one idealistic artist decided he wasn't going to pay taxes anymore. It was absurd! That was why, when he was finally able to put a name – _Kugelmugel_ – to that _feeling_, he was irritated. This was going to be a mess and a headache for his government, not to mention that someone would need to look after the personification.

Now, by their very nature, even the toughest and calloused of nations harbored a nurturing side for children. It was simply part of who they were, being just as dependent upon their people as their people were of them.

So, when Roderich saw that delicate boy sitting in his boss' office, fragile hands tracing smudgy patterns on the window, he was no longer angry.

He was frightened.

It would have to be _him_ to care for this child, his aging boss explained. Until the situation was sorted out, it was only right for Austria to keep track of the boy.

That was Kugelmugel's status. A _situation_, a rickety, unstable structure, born of a tangled mess of lucrative hopes, creative dreams and rebellious spirit.

How was Roderich supposed to keep hold of that? How was he to be the person this child needed? His past attempts at mentoring had all ended through various methods - _separation, war, death_. He'd been so sure that his days of pseudo-parenthood were long-over.

But fate was ever the joker, it seemed.

_I will not care too much, _he promised himself._ This is duty, and nothing more._

Oh, how many times had he told himself that over the years? When _duty_ quite often included close ties to other nations, maneuvers of politics and entwined powers could so easily be confused for emotion. His weak heart had proven to be his personal ruin in the past.

And now, in this post-war world where everything was different and wounds were re-opening, healing and scarring all across Europe, here was another individual he'd have to try his best not to get attached to.

He knelt down to be closer to the boy's height, surprise flitting across his expression when violet eyes only a few shades lighter than his own stared back at him. It really was obvious that Kugelmugel was related to him. A stray strand of dove-white hair curled up on the right side of his head, springing forth from beneath a red beret, and a beauty mark rested below his left eye. The boy had long, messy braids, and a soft face.

_At least he's not in a dress._ Roderich mused wryly. _I _w_ouldn't want him nor I to go through that confusion._

"My name is Austria." He held out his hand. "You'll be living with me."

Kugelmugel stared at him inquisitively for a long moment, before extending his hand and allowing Austria to shake it. "Can I make art?"

Roderich raised a brow at the unexpected question. He truly had no legitimate reasons to refuse the request, especially when that bright and curious gaze was trained so seriously on him, and the small hand clasping his own was warm and trusting.

"Yes, I suppose. Let's go home."

And part of himself suspected then, at the very start, that he was already _doomed_.

**.x.**

Austria took the micronation home, set up one of the guest bedrooms for him, close enough to his own that Kugelmugel could find him if he needed to. Hopefully the child's sense of direction wasn't as bad as Roderich's lack of one.

He could provide basic comforts and see to the needs of his new charge, but Roderich quickly realized that he was out of his depth when it came to entertaining the boy. His job as a nation consisted of paperwork, messages, meetings, and occasional errands. He spent his free time composing, reading, gardening and cooking. He doubted many of those things would be fun to a child, especially not in the meticulous way he preferred to go about them.

Even supper together was an awkward affair, for Austria had fallen quite out of practice as far as conversation went. Anyway, what was he supposed to say to a boy who was freshly in existence? _Welcome to the world, I've no idea what to do with you._

That didn't seem right at all.

"What's going to happen to my real home?" Kugelmugel asked, breaking the odd silence.

"What?" Ah, the spherical house which had started this entire mess. The Austrian authorities were in an uproar over the structure built without the correct permits. Roderich wondered what would happen if the home were to be demolished. He found he couldn't look the child in the eye and ponder such thoughts at the same time, so he pushed those contemplations aside.

"Someone will take care of it." He assured vaguely. "And your...the artist who built it is safe, as are you."

Kugelmugel smiled tentatively at him then, and asked if he could see the rest of the house.

It had been even longer since Austria gave a house tour than the last time he'd had a youngster sitting at his table, but he obliged.

This would be a period of adjustment for them both.

**.x.**

They ended up in the music room, one of the most cherished areas of Austria's estate. Although most of his home had undergone serious diminishing and downsizing, the music room was still ornate and lavishly decorated, bearing a resemblance to elegant eras long-past. It was his place of solace and sanctuary from any troubles which ailed him, either internal or external.

"You like art, _ja?_" He asked the boy gently, receiving a delighted nod in return.

"Painting is my favorite, but I like sketching and coloring, too. Everything is art!" It was the most impassioned thing Kugelmugel had said to Roderich so far.

Chuckling slightly, the dark-haired man felt his spirits lift. Perhaps this would work out well, after all. "Well said. Music is certainly art. Painting is your forte, music is mine."

The young micronation peered up at him shyly. "Will you play a song while I paint, then?"

Surprised by the request, Austria stared at the boy. It sounded like a very good idea, actually. "Ah... Alright, I shall."

After a quick hunt for the proper supplies, they soon settled at their respective stations. Austria positioned himself at the pianoforte while Kugelmugel sat cross-legged in front of a spread of newspapers, paint bottles and stark white paper.

Roderich took a few calming breaths before he began to play, fully expecting to be interrupted at any point by Kugelmugel throwing a sudden fit, or claiming he was bored, or any other disruptive behavior children were capable of exhibiting.

To his surprise, however, the boy didn't even so much as yawn or cast a longing glance toward the door. Instead, he seemed to focus intensely on the music just as much as his painting, often pausing in the middle of his project to stare into space as the notes lifted and dipped in melodic tempo.

Whenever Austria sneaked a glance toward him, Kugelmugel looked so _enraptured _by the song_, _it instantly endeared the swan-haired boy to him.

And after he'd let the last notes resonate throughout the room, the young man stood up and carried over what he'd painted. It was an abstract muddle of shapes and bright colors, all intertwining in circles and arcs, with spaces of dark indigo and royal blue in between.

"What's this?" He asked tentatively, careful not to sound disinterested or negative.

"It's what the song looks like." Kugelmugel grinned, pointing. "See how it rises and falls, but all comes together in the end – and the purple-blue parts, that's because you were the one playing it and you're wearing a purple coat."

There was something very odd to this statement, something that wouldn't click in the former aristocrat's mind until a later date. All Austria realized at the moment was that Kugelmugel was an eccentric child, but also a very unique one.

"_Das ist wunderbar,"_ he praised softly in response, and truly meant it.

The young micronation beamed, and then asked for another song.

All too content to agree, Roderich poised his fingers over the keys once more.

_We'll get along nicely,_ he thought.

**.x.x.x.**

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><p>It could have been worse, Austria would admit. Overall, Kugelmugel was an easy child to care for. He didn't fuss over food much, he could be easily entertained for hours with painting, and he was fairly soft-spoken (although he seemed to have inherited a sense of sarcasm and a stubborn streak a kilometer wide, both of which Roderich <em>refused<em> to take responsibility for).

Kugelmugel loved colors and patterns, as was evidenced when Roderich took him clothes shopping and he requested all sorts of wild combinations. The boy was a whirlwind of brightness and imagination, constantly pointing out shapes in the clouds as they walked hand-in-hand along the streets of Vienna.

And Roderich found himself growing used to the chatter very quickly. Something about the enthusiastic innocence of this child put a spring in the older nation's own step.

Austria had been living alone for almost thirty years before Kugelmugel appeared. His last..._house guests_...were not quite so uplifting. They left in 1955, and since then he had been free, as free as he could be with old memories and ghosts of regret still threatening to wrap chains around him.

He used to have intense bitterness in his heart over all he'd been caught up in, the kind that would boil over and burn him, along with anyone who dared to be close to him.

Kugelmugel reminded him of what it was like before that time, of what Roderich was like before he lost and lost and _lost_ so much that he nearly misplaced his mind in the process. He reminded Austria of what it was like to be young; to still hope and dream so freely, to search the world not for greed, power or revenge, but for love and beauty.

"Austria!" A sharp tug on his hand brought his attention back to the present, where the boy was pointing to one of the large, ornate buildings facing Maria-Theresien-Platz. Oh, he remembered when this area was being built, back when the Emperor was still alive, and no one had ever heard of a world war or various other dark terms associated with his name.

"_Kunst! Kunst!"_

"_Ja,"_ He agreed with a light sigh. _"Kunsthistorisches. _Let's go see, shall we?"

Cheering happily, Kugelmugel briefly hugged his guardian's legs before rushing forward, causing Austria to cry out in surprise, struggling to chase after him as he berated the boy for running.

Just because he was taking the boy to an art history museum, and that his citizens often mistook them for family when they were out like this, it didn't mean anything.

Roderich tried to quell the treacherous thoughts which suggested he wouldn't mind if it did.

**.x.x.x.**

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><p>After Austria, Germany was the second nation Kugelmugel met.<p>

Ludwig came to see Roderich fairly often, for business and occasionally for companionship. Austria knew that Germany missed his _bruder_, and that Germany, for some odd and idiotic reason, thought that Austria must miss the fool as well.

(And he did, but that was _entirely_ beside the point.)

The look of shock on the burly blonde's face was comical when he saw Kugelmugel come bounding down the stairs, splotches of paint in his hair and all over his clothes. He was proudly holding up his latest creation – a painting of a tree in shades of indigo, green and umber, with winding roots and white blossoms tangling in its foliage.

"That's very good." Germany declared in surprise, before turning questioningly to Austria.

"There have been some developments." Roderich explained smoothly, giving the boy a pat on the head. "Kugelmugel, say hello to Germany."

Ludwig was surprisingly good with the child, and they got along well while he told Kugelmugel about his three dogs, describing them all in detail because Kugelmugel had decided to draw them.

Roderich served them tea and _Baumkuchen_, which Kugelmugel soon declared was his absolute favorite.

"What about _sachertorte_?" Austria asked incredulously, and he was not wounded because Kugelmugel seemed to prefer a German dessert over an Austrian one, he was _not._

"It's alright." The boy shrugged. "But I think _Baumkuchen_ might be art." He swallowed a mouthful of the cake and added, "Austria, can we get a dog? Germany has_ three_!"

Ludwig at least had the decency to shrink back slightly when Roderich turned to level an extremely unamused glare at him.

**.x.**

"So, a micronation?" Germany inquired after Kugelmugel had been ushered away to clean himself up.

"_Ja. _He's been living here for several months now."Roderich sighed, massaging his temples. "All because of one man who built a spherical house without proper permission and declared independence..."

"One is all it takes." The younger nation muttered solemnly, with more fatigue than Austria had heard from him in a long while.

"How are you?" He asked softly, feeling a hollowness settle back into his bones. This was the real reason why Germany came to visit – because Austria understood the things he tried to hide from every other nation in the world, the _regret anger fear confusion guilt loneliness _which resulted from the past. With Prussia still behind the Wall which was splitting his heartland in two, Germany had few true friends.

Austria had been with them _then_, through the absolute most despicable time of their lives, and it was he who had been allowed to remain mostly intact now, cozy in his home while the two brothers struggled on different sides of the same punishing divide.

They didn't speak much of it, still too weary to acknowledge it all in words. But they had formed this routine of checking up on each other, and somehow they knew it helped, even whilst skirting around the issue.

Ludwig's hand was tightly gripping the arm of the sofa, his gaze directed to Roderich's hardwood floor. There used to be a woven rug there, from Romania, but it was one of the many things that didn't survive the war.

Austria never really liked that rug, anyway. He'd only gotten it to spite Hungary after the divorce, which backfired because she'd never noticed. Looking back, that was probably a blessing.

"I'm fine." The blonde asserted, but he'd taken so long to answer that the older nation knew it was a lie. "There's been no word for a while of _bruder_..."

Austria felt his lip curl briefly as a tightness built up in his chest. The fourth-generation Wall was the ugliest structure he'd ever seen, in all his centuries of life. A hunkering monster of reinforced concrete, barbed wire and smooth pipe – of course they would have added _pipe_... And yet, he knew even that atrocity would not, _could not_ hold someone like Gilbert at bay forever.

Still, he couldn't deny that the past years had been awfully...long without him.

He reached over to place his hand on Ludwig's broad shoulder. "Take care of yourself, _Junge_. He'll need you when he comes home."

Germany looked up at him gratefully, and for a moment Austria saw the young boy he used to be, no bigger than Kugelmugel was now. He remembered that brief time when it was he and Prussia together, raising that new nation and fighting for him, over him, about him. Austria remembered the shadow of a chance he'd once possessed to be the one to become Germany's guardian, before Prussia won that privilege and stole the blue-eyed child away.

And he thought about how none of them could regain what was lost, or the time that had been stripped away across the centuries. But maybe he was receiving a second chance instead, however little he deserved it.

He allowed himself to hope that they would all be given one.

"You too,_ Österreich." _Ludwig told him earnestly.

Roderich didn't know if he meant for him to take care of himself, or that Gilbert would need him as well when he returned. He found that both statements were applicable in some recess of his heart, so he nodded and offered the tiniest of smiles in response.

**.x.x.x.**


	2. Chapter 2

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Chapter 2**

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><p>After that visit from Germany, Kugelmugel was eager to meet more nations. Austria attempted to delay the inevitable as long as possible, but after many trying conversations and ranting on the boy's part - "Independence is <em>art<em>! Austria, you don't understand!" - he finally conceded, with slight trepidation, to let the young micronation accompany him to a world meeting.

_Chaos,_ he thought. _I'm introducing him to chaos._

"Be polite and make a good impression. Respect your elders, but don't be intimidated. Stand your ground while being careful not to directly ask for a fight. They use it against you if you do that." He instructed as he securely tied the ends of the boy's long, edelweiss-white braids. "There will be other micronations there. Perhaps you'll make friends."

"Do you have lots of friends there?" Kugelmugel asked innocently, playing with the fabric of his red beret.

Roderich smirked, straightening the black satin bow about his charge's neck. "I suppose you could call them that, some days." He sighed, placing his hand atop Kugelmugel's head. "You're growing so quickly... Soon it will be time for a new wardrobe."

The young micronation stuck his tongue out. "You just sound sad about that because you're so cheap."

"Hush! It's called frugality." Austria muttered defensively, although he couldn't very well fault the boy for stating the truth.

**.x.**

Germany was directing the meeting, so Austria wasn't too concerned about rambunctious activity. He had a habit of being fashionably late to meetings, and having Kugelmugel in tow took even longer. By the time they arrived to the conference room, most of the other nations' commotion had quieted down to a dull din of conversational murmurs and the occasional lackadaisical insult.

Towards the back of the large room was a smaller table for micronations. Feeling somewhat like a parent on their child's first day of class – not that he would _ever_ admit it - Roderich led his tag-along there with parting words of, "Be good, _Süßer_."

Kugelmugel wrinkled his nose at the endearment, but quickly relaxed upon realizing that none of his new peers knew what it meant.

Turning away to leave the boy to his socializing, Roderich scanned the conference table and found he _did _have cause for concern.

**.x.**

Prussia had been behind the Wall for twenty-three years, now.

In the beginning, there was always a chair for him at the conference table, in the hopes that he would be able to fill it. For a few years, he was able to. While the Wall did go up overnight, Gilbert's span of influence still allowed him to cross back and forth for a short time. To strip that last freedom away had taken time, just as the four stages of the Wall had done.

It was a slow entrapment, a drawn-out fade until one day, he didn't show up at all. No one received messages from him save for Ludwig, and then even those letters diminished to a bare trickle of words, mere sentences here and there on dirty scraps of paper delivered by Russia, strung out over the months and years.

Austria knew these things, because Germany had told him. He also knew, without being told, that Germany was having one of his bad days, perhaps the worst day in a long while.

For even after Prussia went away, there was still an extra chair.

Except for today.

Today there was only Germany, sitting with his head in his hands, an empty space between himself and where Austria usually sat. An aura practically surrounded him, dark with weariness and desolation.

The other nations were either openly staring or trying their best to ignore the German's obvious turmoil by talking amongst themselves. Italy was gently rubbing the blonde's back, murmuring soft things to which he received no response from.

Roderich had never personally seen to the chair's placement before. Ludwig usually did that, or occasionally Elizaveta. Antonio and even Francis had performed the task over the years at least once.

But on this day, none of them were making an effort to move. Elizaveta tried to smile at him, but the expression broke upon her lips before it could fully form. Francis and Antonio glanced at him and then turned away dismissively.

Ivan was smiling in that disturbingly innocent way of his, that small smile which implied he might know a secret no one else did. The look absolutely grated on Roderich's nerves now more than ever.

Sometimes he thought about going up to the taller man, digging his fingers into that old scarf he always wore and shaking him, demanding that Russia _give him back you infuriating oaf you've had him long enough._

Of course, he never did, and he never would. Austria could no longer afford to raise a hand to anyone, and he certainly didn't dare step on the toes of the Soviet Union. That could remain America's pastime.

Regardless, he occasionally thought about it. He sometimes saw a thunderous expression on Germany's face as well, as if he was also thinking about it.

Russia had a way of being absolutely necessary in the world while perturbing everyone else at the same time. Austria might have found it fascinating under any other circumstances.

But at the time, he was only struck with the way Ludwig...Ludwig refused to look at anyone.

The entire sight filled Roderich with such – hopelessness, such rage and _despair_ that he could not _stand it. _This wasn't how Ludwig was supposed to be. If Gilbert were here, he would have Roderich's head for allowing such a thing.

But Gilbert was not there, and such was the ongoing issue.

_Damn you_, he snarled in his mind, and even the _thought_ was tinged with brokenness. _Damn you, where are you when I need you? When he needs you?_

It was this anger which propelled him across the room to the stack of extra chairs, this indignation that allowed him to pick one up, gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles turned white. It was this urgent sense of passion, this attempt to drive away the ache building up in his chest which led _him, of all people _to be the one to drop that chair down next to Germany with a heavy, decisive **'thud'.**

Lamentably exhausted yet satisfied, Austria thought that the action was almost befittingly obnoxious enough to be something Prussia himself would have done. Although, heaven forbid the musician start taking over that idiot's role...

His eyes were icy when they made contact with Russia's for the barest of seconds, despite the fire Austria could feel raging along his pulse.

England, France and America were all uncharacteristically silent. The bespectacled blonde superpower pursed his lips with something that uncomfortably resembled pity, and Austria sneered in response.

Pity had no place, not for him or Germany, and certainly not for Prussia. They were _stronger _than that. Perhaps only in spirit, but strong nonetheless.

Poland had some unreadable spark in his striking peridot eyes from where he sat near Hungary, and Austria wondered if perhaps he was one of the most likely to understand, out of all the nations in the room.

Separation, being torn apart, tossed out of sight and out of love - these were things Poland had known _well_, Austria recalled with a hollow pang of regret.

_Gott, how tiring these gatherings are..._

He pushed those thoughts aside in the interest of maintaining a resolute and stately expression, his hands sliding up to rest upon the back of that starkly vacant chair.

"The meeting can begin now." He announced firmly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room as if daring anyone to disagree.

Germany finally moved. He stared incredulously from the chair, up to Austria and back again. Then he straightened his shoulders, as if a heavy burden had been lifted, at least momentarily.

"_Ja," _He agreed. The lines of tension across his brow softened slightly when he caught sight of Kugelmugel at the other table, blissfully oblivious to what had just occurred. "We'll start with those who are here."

And they all knew that the extra chair was entirely unnecessary, and would probably never be filled by that crimson-eyed man again. The nation of Prussia had been dissolved for decades, if they were to be honest with themselves.

But Roderich had always been accused of being a slightly unrealistic individual, at least during those times in which it suited him.

He remembered Kugelmugel asking him that morning whether or not he had many friends.

Austria and Prussia would both express contempt for one another if anyone dared categorize them as such a thing, so no, Austria did not miss Prussia because he was – _is_, he's not _dead_ – his friend.

All the same, not having him around felt abysmally like losing. The main reason Austria did not call Prussia a friend was because he signified far more than that over their long and complicated history.

And it hurt, to have had one's former worst enemy taken away. Austria mused at times, just to himself, that it cut more deeply than being parted from any of his so-called lovers ever had.

**.x.**

Most of the other nations had noticed his entrance with Kugelmugel and were curious as to who the boy was. After the meeting, Roderich found himself watching from a polite distance as his charge was cornered by curious individuals.

One thing he'd learned about Kugelmugel was that he did favor his independence, young as he was – wasn't that how all children were? He didn't mind being instructed – _some days_ – but he also enjoyed learning things his own way. He seemed to prefer not to be overly coddled, which worked out well for both their sakes.

Hungary and Italy instantly took to fawning over the child, much to Kugelmugel's chagrin and Austria's private amusement.

"Is Austria feeding you correctly?" Elizaveta crooned, pinching the boy's smooth cheeks. "Not sweets day and night, I hope."

"You should eat pasta!" Feliciano added.

"No, he cooks good food... I _like_ sweets, though." Light violet eyes peeked up at the Italian. "What's pasta?"

"What's...pasta...?" Yelping indignantly, Italy began to wave his arms and wail. "What's pasta?! Veh, the shame!"

Sighing with feigned worry, Roderich folded his arms and shook his head at Ludwig, who was standing beside him. "Between you with _Baumkuchen_ and Feliciano with pasta, he's going to lose his taste for my food."

Germany coughed lightly. "So long as he isn't tricked into trying England's food."

"Oh..." Genuinely horrified, the older nation paled. "I must keep him from _that_."

Ludwig smirked halfheartedly before shifting slightly on his feet. "_Danke_...for earlier. When I came in, I heard people talking and..." He averted his eyes, but not before Roderich caught sight of the shame in them. "I'm just tired."

Austria's lips briefly thinned into a pursed line. He lowered his voice carefully. "People are always talking, _Junge_. You know this." His gaze darted over to where Kugelmugel was apparently causing Hungary to laugh with wild abandon at something. "That child over there exists because one man believes in him. Your _bruder_ is fortunate to have many more than that still remembering who he is."

_As if I could ever forget._

Prussia would have a lot to catch up on when he returned, but Austria didn't think he'd tell him everything. He wouldn't tell him about this day when his chair disappeared and his friends turned their heads away as his dear younger brother fell into despondent silence.

Instead, he would tell him about Kugelmugel, who managed to light up the stuffy room simply by being in it, despite all the bleak shadows everyone else had brought in with them.

**.x.**

Austria had never raised a personification on his own before, and never a micronation. Before the room was cleared, he was..._privileged_ to receive some candid and widely diverse advice from his fellow nations.

"The new boy is something else, isn't he?" Hungary smiled as she approached him. "Why did you keep him hidden away for so long?"

"I wasn't sure...how long he would be around. His status, it's complicated."

Pushing his spectacles up, Roderich thought of how Kugelmugel's so-called President was now printing his own stamps. _His own stamps!_ And that, of course, fell under the category of art, too. It was no wonder the boy was so odd...

"I'm afraid," he told his ex-wife and close friend honestly, without realizing at first what he'd voiced out loud.

"Afraid of losing him, or getting close to him?" She asked gently.

"Both." He lowered his eyes. The insecurities and concerns he'd forced to the back of his mind before began to resurface.

"This shouldn't have happened, Erszi, and I don't know what to do. I wasn't supposed – I never thought I would have to care for someone else again. I've been trying, but I've never been very good at it."

"He is a child, is he not? Raise him, as you've been doing." Her hand rested briefly upon his back, a warm and comforting weight. "The past is done, Roderich. Now is the time to start doing things the right way."

She put it so simply, and although the words hardly answered any of the questions flitting throughout his mind, Austria felt reassured. He wondered if she still thought about those years when they were Austria-Hungary. _Österreich-Ungarn. Ausztria-Magyarország._

Even before that, she lived and worked in his house while his and Spain's Hapsburg royals held the throne. She was always surprisingly good with children, despite having a warrior's spirit.

How ironic it was that Austria once again had a child in his house now, after war had stripped away anyone who might live by his side to support him.

"I could come by sometimes, see how he's doing." She offered, as if plucking the thoughts right from his mind.

Smiling gratefully, he nodded his assent. "I think we'd both like that."

**.x.**

"A micronation, hm?" England heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Do your best with the lad. If he proves too difficult, send him elsewhere and take a break for a while."

Roderich lifted his chin primly. "Kugelmugel is not so painfully irritating or loud as Sealand. We're getting along fine."

Of course, the boy was still a handful at times, especially when he painted or drew on things he wasn't supposed to – like Austria's face when he was sleeping. Certainly, it was irritating when he kept Roderich up at night and jumped on his bed to wake him early in the morning. It was downright horrifying when the boy ran off excitedly in public, leaving Austria to panic and imagine scenarios of losing him, catching up to Kugelmugel and grabbing his hand tightly with sharp-tongued scoldings of _you scared me half to death never do that again I swear you ungrateful child how would I explain your disappearance_.

Despite all of this, however, Kugelmugel was still a well-behaved child compared to England's reluctantly claimed charge.

"You would do well to stop pushing people away simply to avoid hurt." Roderich added, not unkindly.

The Englishman still took offense. "Who said anything about being hurt?" He practically growled, before calling Roderich a wanker and wishing him a polite _good day to you_ all in the same staid breath.

Austria rolled his eyes slightly and easily shook the insult off, thinking of how he'd only brought the subject up because he'd realized by now that sometimes people are taken away before you can tell them how you feel about them, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone.

**.x.**

Spain surprised him with his words, coming up to stand close beside him with his trademark, somewhat spaced-out smile plastered on his face.

"Always be truthful with the ones you're close to. Then, even when you make mistakes, they will be honest ones."

Roderich had forgotten about this softer side of Antonio, the capability he had to dole out such pearls of wisdom. It brought a reminiscent half-smile to his face.

"I suppose that does make a lot of sense."

They had performed their share of mistakes with each other. Honesty, however, must have been something Spain learned far after the fact.

Austria chose not to call him out on that, for he could hardly claim to have done any better. Instead, it was far easier for them both to pretend.

**.x.**

"Keep him out of trouble." Switzerland told him gruffly, without quite looking him in the eye. "The best way to raise a child is to keep them safe and sheltered."

"_Ja_... _Danke, Schweiz._" He replied earnestly, fingertips just barely resting on the older nation's shoulder for a moment. Roderich hoped Vash knew he wasn't referring to the advice alone, but for those years Switzerland thought he'd forgotten – when Austria was young and Switzerland was his protector.

Liechtenstein came up with Kugelmugel in tow then, and offered to watch him anytime for Austria.

"_Groß bruder, _that would be okay, wouldn't it? _Bitte?_" Lili asked sweetly, while Kugelmugel turned imploring eyes upon Roderich.

The two Alpine neighbors exchanged a glance and silently resolved themselves to the fact that they'd be seeing more of each other.

"As long as the kid behaves, it's fine, Lili."

"Of course, _Süßer, _and don't let Switzerland scare you."

"He's not scary! He looks kind of pretty, but not as much as Miss Liechtenstein."

Lili giggled as Vash sputtered indignantly, his face turning an interesting shade of red that Kugelmugel would probably want to paint later. Roderich had to cover a smirk behind his hand.

Hungary was right, Austria thought, as she often was. This child _was_ something else, and Roderich found that he didn't care to remember how quiet his life had been without him.

**.x.x.x.**

* * *

><p>Austria didn't <em>play <em>with Kugelmugel_, _not really. It wasn't his style. Certainly, he'd sit at the park and read while the child ran amok, and occasionally he might be dragged into playing – ahem, _participating_ – in hide and seek, which was mostly Austria counting generously and Kugelmugel alternating between giggling and switching places constantly.

He might paint with the boy when he had a bit of free time, but that wasn't playing, as even Kugelmugel pointed out, it was _art_.

So, there was only one time it could be said that Austria played, and that was, of course, when he played music for the boy. It was what he'd always done for anyone he happened to grow fond of. It was the way he expressed himself best, without pretenses or pride getting in the way.

He had just finished Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 6 in D major. The piece was also called "Dürnitz", Austria recalled, for it had been written by request of a Baron von Dürnitz, who ultimately failed to pay for the work.

_How like life_, Roderich thought, to _expend talent without receiving comeuppance. _Then again, the song was associated with Mozart now and not the Baron, so perhaps it was not so much an injustice as a blessing in disguise, and that was like life, as well.

"Have you always worn glasses?" Kugelmugel asked out of the blue, after silence had reigned in the music room for a few long minutes.

"Ah, no. I had to wait for them to be invented first." Austria replied, perfectly serious.

"Oh." Kugelmugel wrinkled his nose. "You're really old."

Roderich hummed noncommittally as he stood up from the piano bench, stretching his arms above his head and hearing his joints crack as if to back up the boy's observation.

"Do they help you see the music?"

"You mean the sheet music? No, not really..." Oh, was he truly going to have to explain that he didn't actually need glasses, that he only wore them in a petty yet deep-set desperation not to appear plain? "You see, I - "

"No," Kugelmugel interrupted. "The _music_. You know, it has shapes and colors." He tilted his head with a quizzical air. "You've never seen it when you play?"

"No, I haven't." Roderich frowned, before the thought - the answer finally occurred to him. "Kugelmugel, do you always see colors when you hear sound?"

The boy furrowed his brows, pondering the question. "It depends. Some noises don't really have bold colors, but others do, especially if they're loud or repetitive. Pretty sounds, like your music, are my favorite. It's mostly lines and loops, but sometimes there are other shapes, too." He followed the statement with a shy smile, indicating the painting he'd started while Austria had been playing. "See, that songs looks kind of like this. Doesn't everyone see those things?"

"No, _Süßer_, not everyone can see those things..." Roderich murmured, tilting his head in contemplation of a certain possibility.

Yes, that must be it - the child was a synesthete. It made so much sense now! The way he would draw pictures based off sound, and stare into space whenever Roderich played music - it was all because in his mind's eye, he was truly _seeing_ it in color. This also would explain why he didn't like it when people yelled, or when a room was too crowded. It must be an overwhelming sensory overload for him.

"I think you have a form of synesthesia, perhaps chromesthesia, specifically." He explained gently. "It means that when your sense of hearing is stimulated, you associate colors with those sounds."

Kugelmugel bit his lip uncertainty, ducking his head. "So it's not normal? Is that bad?"

Placing his hands on the micronation's shoulders, Roderich tipped the boy's chin up. "No, it's not bad. It's somewhat rare, but it's nothing to be ashamed of." He assured earnestly. "It's incredible."

Taking this new information into account, Roderich silently vowed to accommodate the young artist and look out for him even more. Oh, what a fantastic phenomenon it must be, to enjoy music in more ways than simply listening, or feeling an instrument between one's fingers!

_Special child, _he thought._ Your world is so bright that it's lightening mine, as well._

**.x.x.x.**


	3. Chapter 3

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**Chapter 3**

**.**

* * *

><p>"You'll need a human name. It's been a long while already." This would be another step, another engraving of Kugelmugel's presence into Austria's memory.<p>

Roderich ignored the vague feeling of warning in the back of his mind and continued on. _Don't be ridiculous. The boy deserves a name, whether he stays or not._

"I was thinking about Edwin, as that is the name of your...'President'."

Said 'President', that eccentric artist, was still giving the Austrian government a world of trouble. But as the man was also keeping Kugelmugel's status secure, Roderich found himself personally torn on the issue. This was no longer a black-and-white legal tangle to him, a question of whether or not a man had the right to build a spherical home and declare it his own nation.

It was more than that. It was also about a boy who lived and breathed with him here and now, who had hopes and dreams and imagination just like any other child.

"Edwin is fine. He's an artist, and so am I." Kugelmugel stated without looking away from his still-life painting.

"You certainly are." Roderich muttered, and as simply as that, Kugelmugel's existence gained a new dimension.

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.x.<strong>

"Your house is so big!" Edwin often exclaimed this, as if he still couldn't wrap his mind around it. Austria's house was so much more different than the home he'd come from – the _house_ he'd come from, this place was _home_ now.

"I suppose it still is." Roderich turned a page in his book. His thoughts were rolling off his tongue before he realized what he was saying. "It used to be very full. Other people lived with me."

"Like Italy, and the Holy Roman Empire and Miss Hungary, right?"

Austria looked up. "Did Miss Hungary tell you that?"

Shifting, Kugelmugel nodded. "She said you all used to be like a family."

Roderich hummed. "A dysfunctional family, of sorts." And he found himself talking about them, regaling stories of the past.

He told Kugelmugel about how hard Hungary worked, and how she was always there to whack people for Austria when he needed help, even if she was a bit late sometimes because she was cross with him as well.

He spoke of Italy, the boy whom he'd thought was a girl for years because Hungary enjoyed putting him in dresses.

He remembered his brother from further South, the one who drew mustaches on Austria's portraits and learned foul words at an early age.

He even told him about Holy Rome, who was so serious for a little boy that it was almost comical, and who loved Italy with that same awkwardly serious attitude.

And Austria only smiled vaguely when Kugelmugel said, "That sounds like Germany."

"Did you love them?"

The offhand question caught him by surprise, and he nearly dropped his book, the pages slipping through his slackened grip until he tightened his fingers.

Despite having kept his tone casual, Kugelmugel was now staring at him intently, those eyes which were so similar to his own locked on his expression.

"I..." His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and his gaze skittered away. _I loved them_, he thought. _I think I loved them, I wasn't supposed to though I tried, but it was complicated and we couldn't last._

"Yes." He settled upon the safest answer, Antonio's words about honesty from the world meeting echoing in his memory and chasing away the bittersweet thoughts. "Yes, I did. I still do." He liked to think that they still loved him as well, at least Hungary and Italy.

"Do you love me?" Edwin asked, still in that casual tone. Upon a searching glance, however, Roderich caught the uncertainty lurking in violet eyes just a shade lighter than his own.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" He didn't want this. He'd wanted to keep his distance from the boy, be a guardian and nothing more. It would have been better that way. Safer. No one gets hurt. If there were no ties, then nothing could be severed. He was tired of losing people, of _missing_ people.

But he was tired of being alone, too.

"Because the others, they did something for you, right? So you were glad to have them, even if they messed up." Kugelmugel voiced his reasoning. "But I don't do anything for you. I'm here because someone didn't want to be part of you anymore."

_Clever child_, was Austria's initial thought. This clever child was figuring out the world around him so fast, far too quickly for Roderich to keep up, to screen his answers and keep his personal barriers strong.

Yet, he found that he was proud of the boy for who he was, regardless of what he represented. It was that feeling which urged him to set his book aside and lean forward, gazing intently.

"Love is not about...being beneficial for someone else. You are here because someone believes in you, just as I am. I do not resent you for that. I could never."

He held his arms out to beckon Edwin closer, wrapping the boy in an embrace and patting the top of his head. "And I do love you, even when you mess up. _Ich liebe dich._"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he could never take them back. He didn't want to retract them, either. Something had shifted immediately between himself and this child. Although he knew now that there was no where go to but blindly, _frighteningly_ forward, he couldn't bring himself to do anything but hold the boy in his arms.

"Love is art." Kugelmugel said, bringing the beginnings of a smile to Austria's lips.

_"Ja," _he agreed. "The highest form of it."

And he understood how England felt, how it was possible to lose so much that a person could not even bring themselves to enjoy what they had been given.

Kugelmugel reached up to tug Austria's glasses off, settling them on his own tiny nose and parroting the words of the older nation. "_Ich liebe dich._"

Roderich laughed softly, even as he felt his heart simultaneously warm and crack.

Yes, he sympathized with Arthur's way of dealing with others, never wanting to open himself to emotions and shying away from relationships which could hurt just as well as they could heal a human heart.

But Roderich was also beginning to remember how important it was to _try_.

_Even if this doesn't last, I'm grateful._

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.x.<strong>

"Who is this?"

"Hold on, _Süßer_." Roderich continued whipping the cake mix. If he paused now and allowed it to sit, the consistency would change too much. It wouldn't hurt the boy to have a small lesson in patience, anyway.

When the cake was safely set to bake in the oven, he brushed the flour off his apron and walked over to where Kugelmugel was holding a large photo album.

"Where did you get that?"

"Germany gave it to me before he left last time he visited. He said I could look through it as long as I like, so long as I don't draw in it."

"That was nice of him. You'll need to take very good care of it." Roderich hadn't been aware of what Ludwig had done, but he didn't mind too much. He was glad Germany was getting along with the boy. Edwin and Feliciano were the only ones who could bring a genuinely cheerful expression to Ludwig's face these days.

"Now, what did you want to know?"

As Roderich peered over the child's shoulder, Kugelmugel pointed to a tall man dressed in a dark military uniform, standing with a beer stein in between Germany and Austria. There was a chick-like bird perched upon his head, and his free arm was slung over Germany's shoulders while Austria stood with his arms neatly folded, shyly glancing away to avoid looking at the camera.

"Who is that man?" Edwin asked. "I've never seen him before."

_"Preußen."_ He whispered.

Why hadn't Ludwig told the boy about his brother? Had he deliberately done this so that Roderich would have to remember him more than he already did, so that thoughts of the man would creep up on him even more?

"Prussia? I thought he was dead."

"Who told you that?" Roderich asked sharply, then calmed upon seeing Kugelmugel shrink back slightly. "I'm sorry, Edwin."He sighed culpably.

"Dissolved, not dead." The former aristocrat corrected, removing his spectacles and massaging the bridge of his nose. "Prussia was dissolved. He is no longer a nation, but he still lives. He's..." _Trapped, scorned, starved, punished._ "He's away right now."

"What's his other name?"

"Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"Why do you still call him Prussia if he's not Prussia anymore?" Edwin pressed, not easily deterred when he really wanted something. _Persistence is art_, he would say.

"Because," Roderich smiled - a wry, crooked curl of his lips. "That's who he thinks he is."

And that was the name which had been drilled into him for centuries. Not East Germany, which was arguably just as lackluster as Ostmark, but _Prussia_.

Kugelmugel was quiet for several moments. "Do you think that will happen to me if I can't be a micronation anymore? Will I have to go away, too?"

The expression froze on Austria's face, and he stared numbly down at the boy who was watching him intently for his answer, fear and disquiet in his eyes.

"No, _Süßer_, you won't have to go away." He promised, this time ignoring Spain's advice about honesty. "You can still be yourself."

_I hope so,_ he added to himself. _I will try everything in my power to make it so._

He patted the boy's shoulders. "Go, entertain yourself neatly for a while. I'm making your favorite for dessert tonight, so be good."

Later on, Kugelmugel had more questions about Prussia. What did he look like in person? Was he strong? Why did he have a bird on his head? Was he an artist? Why was he dissolved? Was he the reason why Germany and Austria started suddenly looking sad sometimes?

Roderich answered what he could without becoming too overtaken with memories and emotions, and deflected other queries which hit too close to areas that still stung when prodded.

"He's going to come back, some day soon." He informed the boy, and it sounded like an ardent promise. "You'll get to ask him all the questions you like then."

Austria called Germany that night to thank him for the pictures, and to tell him how Kugelmugel had asked about his _bruder_.

What he doesn't tell anyone is that he takes the photo album from Edwin's room that night, and spends hours upon his piano bench in the silent music room. He pours over the pages, staring at different images of the same face which he tries_ so hard_ to remember in warm color, instead of harsh, unfeeling black and white.

And he is very careful that none of his tears land on the photos, for after all, the pictures are precious and Ludwig has trusted them to return the album in perfect condition.

Roderich wishes futilely – fleetingly - that Gilbert, too, would be returned to them in perfect condition, although he knows reality is a harsh medium to work in.

Austria decided on this night that he did not hate Prussia anymore, because really, there was not enough left to hate. There was only enough to love, and certainly plenty to miss, as he'd had time and time and _time_ to discover.

**.x.x.x.**

Edwin Lipburger, self-proclaimed President of the Republic of Kugelmugel, was given a prison sentence.

Upon the news from the court, Austria sagged down onto the sofa, held his head in his hands and vehemently uttered, _"Scheiße."_

He hadn't heard Kugelmugel in the doorway until the boy came and sat down next to him, still growing taller each day as if his existence hadn't been hanging on a thread for all this time.

"Never repeat that word." Roderich pleaded tiredly, attempting to quell thoughts of Kugelmugel suddenly disappearing as a personification, of never painting or playing again, never waking Austria up in the morning or asking questions or visiting with other nations.

"You're going to be alright." He told Edwin, taking his hands away from his face to look the boy in the eye. "You are, when this is all over."

Those last words, he'd repeated them like a mantra throughout his long life. _When this is all over. _Because, after all, something always had to give. An ending always had to occur, in order for anything to ever_ change_.

Kugelmugel just stared at him, unperturbed, and said, "I know."

And Roderich didn't feel quite as helpless and afraid as before. He felt as though, perhaps, there was a chance that he could do something about this.

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.x.<strong>

Austria's current boss was one of the most popular in his history to date. Kirchschläger was a miraculously wizened man in his second term, with an exceedingly high approval rate.

Integrity and diligence had come to be associated with the eighth Austrian President, so it was not entirely odd – not suspicious, nor strange – when he issued a pardon to Edwin Lipburger, apparently able to see the humor in the situation despite all the uproar.

The artist-turned-revolutionary was free to live his life, and Kugelmugel the micronation was just as free to live his.

Austria had come home and delivered the news, smiling when Edwin asked, "So I can stay for as long as I want?"

"You can," Roderich assured, laughing when the boy rushed into his arms and cried, "I told you so, Austria, I told you I _knew_!"

They went out to celebrate - Austria even paid for an expensive lunch and dessert.

"Would you like to see where they moved your...house?" He asked as they left the restaurant, holding the boy's hand from sheer force of habit and not because he was still afraid of losing him.

Kugelmugel nodded, and they headed to Vienna Prater.

Upon Lipburger's pardon, the Austrian authorities had relocated the sphere which Kugelmugel was named after. It had come all the way from the countryside to the stately city park.

They stood there before it, in all its round, barbed wire-surrounded glory. It did fulfill the purpose Lipburger designed it for, being the shape most synchronous with nature. There in the park, it would remain empty and exposed to the elements, through days and nights, the hours circling around it in the way that time unfailingly did.

Roderich thought of how this building had ceased to be a home for the eccentric artist who'd created it, becoming another odd sight among many in his precious city.

But he was one of the few in the world who knew that the dream – the spark of it all - was not exhibited in the sphere itself.

All the life that Lipburger put into his stunts had resulted in the creation of the boy who stood beside Austria now, with hands that loved to create and bright eyes which saw art in everything, especially music, certainly people and sometimes even food.

"My middle name is Leopold." Kugelmugel declared.

"What?" Roderich raised his eyebrows, glancing down at the boy. "How did - why?"

"Now this house is in second district, Leopoldstadt. It has a place it's allowed to stay now, and so do I." Kugelmugel replied. "And 'Leopold' has two o's in it. That's my favorite letter."

"It would be." Roderich concurred, feeling a rush of _gratitude affection amazement_ welling up in his chest.

"I like that name, very much," he said. "I knew another Leopold, centuries ago."

"Was he an artist?"

"No." Austria chuckled at the thought. "But he did have a sort of flair for the dramatic, and gave me the colors for my flag."

And he told the boy a story nearly eight centuries old, of Duke Leopold V who fought in the Third Crusade until his white tunic was stained with blood save for a single stripe from where his belt rested, impressing the Holy Roman Emperor so much that he allowed the Duke to adopt those colors as his banner.

Kugelmugel made a face and shrugged. "My flag just has a silhouette of the guy who built this." He gestured to the house.

"Well," Austria conceded dryly. "Art takes many forms."

Looking up at his caretaker, Kugelmugel asked, "Can we go home now?"

Roderich raised his eyebrows in surprise, having thought the boy would have wanted to stay longer. However, he was hardly going to deny the request. "_Ja._ Let's go home."

And to be able to utter those words on that day felt like the sweetest victory Austria could remember in years.

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.x.<strong>

It was five years after Kugelmugel came to live with Austria, four months after the 750th anniversary of Berlin and the electrifying speech at Brandenburg Gate from America's boss, and two months since Hungary disabled her physical borders with Austria, allowing over thirteen thousand East Germans to escape through her land and into his.

It was twenty-eight long years, from the summer of 1961 to the winter of 1989.

It was countless sleepless nights, days of empty chairs and hidden tears and painful, precious memories, not just in conference rooms and old houses but all across the country, across the heartland of Germany.

It was the evening of the ninth of November when the wall woodpeckers went to work, chipping and hacking away at the structure which was as good as fallen, unable to withstand the force of generations crying out, demanding_ freedom, peace, unity_.

It was a bitingly cold night when Germany rushed forward to embrace his brother at last, shoulders trembling with relief and the effort not to start bawling. Then Prussia wrapped his arms around him in return, said something too low for Austria to hear from his position behind them and they _both_ started bawling.

Austria didn't realize that he was sobbing too until his glasses fogged up so much that he couldn't see. He yanked them off, because he absolutely was not going to lose sight of Prussia _now_, after everything that had happened.

People were celebrating all around them, popping champagne bottles and dancing, laughing, crying, hugging, shouting with the ecstatic triumph and joy which comes from being completely desperate and _finally finding a way out_.

The surrounding noise and motion faded in Austria's mind when Prussia looked up over Germany's shoulder, locking eyes with him. For a moment, Gilbert looked surprised, as if he were shocked to see Austria there, and honestly, if he only knew...if he only _knew_...

Germany stepped back at some point to wipe at his eyes, heaving an odd half-laugh, half-sob. In that moment, he looked somewhat like the young boy he used to be, before war had reshaped him and stripped him of his innocence and made him everything he was today.

And then it was just Austria and Prussia, facing each other again for the first time in too long.

They were not what they used to be. They were not torrid enemies, nor reluctant allies. They were not Empires, strung up on lust for power. They could never be those things again, for Austria was neutral and Prussia remained dissolved.

But they were still _something_, and they still needed one another to remind them of everything they had ever been, all they'd overcome and accomplished, and the possibilities of what they still could achieve.

Roderich stepped forward with a sudden, urgent breathlessness to pull that man into his arms. Gilbert seemed thinner than before and unbelievably frail beneath the surface, but _real._

Kissing him on both sallow cheeks, his hot tears mingling with Prussia's own, Austria wrapped his arms around him, fingers curling into the back of his threadbare shirt and albescent locks.

His breath hitched as he tried to say something along the lines of, _you've missed a lot_, but what came out of his mouth in tearful fervor was, "_Gott, Preußen_, I've missed you so much."

He felt Prussia's hands come up to clasp him in a hold just as tight, grinning and saying nothing about his slip of the tongue, if it even bothered him at all. The slightest chuckle breezed against Austria's ear. Gilbert was solid and steady in his arms, and it felt like another crack in Roderich's heart was being filled and smoothed over.

It burned beautifully, and then Germany was there beside them again, so they all cried together for a while, their pent-up sobs and misty breaths and half-formed sentiments lost to the cacophony of other sounds of love, renewed hope and freedom rising to the night sky.

It was that day which paved the way for German reunification, for the end of an era and a consequence, and the start of a redemption.

It was that day when Gilbert came home.

**.x.**

Austria returned to Berlin two weeks later, bringing Kugelmugel along this time. Gilbert was sitting at the kitchen table – _a chair that isn't empty,_ Roderich thought, _there's finally a chair for him that isn't empty – _with his yellow bird on his shoulder, looking tired but slightly better_._

Ruby-red eyes had widened at the new visitor, staring at the micronation in surprise.

"This is Edwin Leopold Edelstein. He's been waiting to meet you for a very long time." Roderich wore a look which promised further explanations later.

"Well, hey there, kid. Fancy name, huh? It sounds like you've been hanging around prissy Austria too much."

Gilbert held out his hand. "Glad you can finally meet the awesome me!"

"Hi. Austria only picked out part of my name, actually." Kugelmugel raised an eyebrow at Prussia, and Gilbert looked struck at seeing such a familiar, trademark expression of Roderich's on the face of the boy.

Edwin took the albino man's calloused hand in his own, shaking it lightly. "Are you going to stay from now on? I don't want Austria and Germany to be sad anymore."

The two adults froze, Austria's face heating up in mortification. He averted his eyes, but heard Prussia's response with perfect clarity.

"_Ja,_ I'm going to stick around, so let's all be happy, okay? Now, no more questions for me until you tell me about who you are!"

The two instantly hit it off after that, talking and occasionally snickering for hours while Austria and Germany hovered about and pretended – terribly, at that - not to be interested in anything they said.

By the time Roderich regretfully announced that they needed to leave, Gilbert had three portraits of himself with Gilbird, a drawing of himself with Edwin, and a drawing of all four of them – Roderich, Gilbert, Ludwig and Edwin – holding hands on top of the world.

They all looked at that one for a few moments, and Roderich was close to feeling that way – _on top of the world_ – when Gilbert looked up at him, their fingers brushing together just slightly over the paper.

"You did well with this kid, Specs."

"No." Austria murmured. "He is entirely his own person."

Gilbert shook his head with cherry fondness in his eyes.

"You've changed," he observed, and it almost sounded like _I missed you, too_.

"I don't know if people ever change." Roderich replied. "Don't you wonder if they just find parts of themselves they hadn't discovered before?"

"Maybe people change," Edwin piped up. "And maybe people can help others find the good parts of themselves."

And that made sense, so the adults all nodded and agreed, thinking about the good they had witnessed in each other over the centuries, from the golden years to the tarnished ones and all that time in between.

_We're all still here, _Austria realized with a private thrill of joy. _Danke Gott, we're all still here._

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.x.<strong>

Now it's Gilbert's first Christmas back home, less than two months after his release from behind the Wall, and there is a gathering at Austria's house.

Ludwig arrives first, his brother and Feliciano in tow, and Edwin throws himself at them and informs them of all his latest projects. He tells them about how Austria put the Christmas tree up in the drawing room last night but won't let him see it until after they eat dinner, because that's Austrian tradition.

"I could have helped, but I bet it's probably still beautiful! He says there are lots of presents underneath, and we can all open some tonight because it's Christmas Eve!" The boy cheers.

Roderich just smiles and opens the door a few minutes later for Elizaveta, who is carrying a hoard of presents and definitely looking even more beautiful than the tree, in that casual way of hers. Antonio and Lovino show up as well, and Roderich has even invited Francis for Gilbert's sake.

There is a general consensus among all the guests to make this Christmas special for the two most immature people in Austria's life – Gilbert and Edwin. Additionally, he does warn Gilbert's two old friends to _be on your best behavior in front of Kugelmugel or so help me..._

Of course, Hungary has brought her frying pan as always and Germany is there, so everything is lively yet mostly balanced out.

The halls and doorways are decorated with the paper chains Edwin has made, and they look homely – and slightly, ridiculously out-of-place in the elegant house – but no one minds one bit. Austria pats Kugelmugel's head and tells him he's proud of him, rewarded with the flash of a blinding smile before the boy runs off to spread his cheer to someone else.

To Roderich's surprise, the last guests at his door are Vash and Lili, whom he didn't think were going to accept his invitation after all.

Switzerland loads his arms with parcels and gruffly says, "Those are for your tree, but don't strain yourself." He takes them all back a second later. "Never mind, I'll just carry them because it's easier that way. We both know you don't have any muscles."

Austria is so shocked that he simply stands there for a moment or three, until he remembers his manners and says _yes, of course, thank you, I suppose_, and ushers them inside, out of the cold.

He's been so busy making sure that everyone is comfortable – behaving, as well - and that the house remains situated, so it's alarming when he finally remembers that there is _sachertorte_ still baking in the kitchen.

Roderich hurries to check up on that, but instead finds his path to the oven blocked by Gilbert and Edwin, who are standing over a row of cookie pans, munching on the _lebkuchen_ which has been set out to cool.

"You two had better _not_ be eating dessert early." He snaps, coming up behind them and looking every bit like the righteously upset and dignified man he is, even if Gilbert had already been making in fun of his lace-trimmed purple apron for a couple hours now. "I leave this kitchen for _five minutes_ and you two have the _audacity_ - "

"_Scheiße,"_ Kugelmugel interrupts the rant to mutter contritely, startled into dropping the sweet biscuit back onto the pan.

Prussia laughs hard – cackles, really, while Roderich scowls - _honestly Gilbert, you immature fool, you think that's funny? Perhaps you can explain where he learned that word?_

"I learned it from _you_, Austria." The boy points out helpfully.

Still shamelessly holding his bit of _lebkuchen_ in one hand, the albino man slaps his knee_._ "This kid is _awesome_!"

And from beyond the doorway, everyone else is snickering and giggling. Even Germany has a rare grin spreading across his face, and Kugelmugel dares to smile blissfully with sweet satisfaction at the scene he helped create.

Austria finds himself beginning to crack a smile as well, even as he warns Prussia and Kugelmugel that they won't be having any treats later at this rate.

He knows, however, that of course he'll allow them some, because it's Christmas and they're all _together._

Oh, they all still have a long way to go. They always will. But now that all has been said and done, after so many wretched obstacles have been overcome, they are something like a family again. Some things have been lost, though it seems now as if so much more has been regained.

All these people are so precious to Roderich, and he's realized that he cannot do anything but love them, in this moment and the next, while their wild, colorful world twirls around faithfully still - the most beautiful sphere of all.

**.**

_**Ende**_

_**.**_

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.x.<strong>

**AN: **Well, thank you dearly for reading, if you've made it this far!

I know there is a headcannon that it probably would have been possible for Gilbert to pass into West Berlin briefly even while the Wall was in effect, him being a personification tied to the East German government and such. That's a far nicer concept and I support it, but the nature of this story evolved almost without my conscious effort, and I decided not to go with that.

Furthermore, I apologize for any historical or grammatical errors. This work is unbeta'd, and I'm sure it could have used far more revision that what I gave it.


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